


Rise Up

by Lepidopteran (lepi)



Series: Earn Your Way Back [5]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insecurity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Rebirth, Referenced non-consensual body modification, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lepi/pseuds/Lepidopteran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron isn't doing so well in the aftermath of Unicron's control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rise Up

Minicon newsparks, as it turned out, developed plating much faster than normal Cybertronians. The fact seemed unsurprising, in hindsight, but as Megatron stared at the Minicons and their nearly completed frames, he felt a peculiar press of some formless anxiety on in spark chamber.

The anxiety was not altogether unfamiliar to him in this new body, though the very concept was ridiculous. Megatron had lived as a gladiator for years; he had learned to channel the rush of hyperawareness into datastreams that kept him at the very peak of his combat ability. He had overthrown Primes. He had conquered Dark Energon. And he did not fear death; the scout's rally had been unexpected, but the second time… Megatron had been more than willing to throw away his own life again in exchange for Unicron's demise.

Worry should be unnecessary: Megatron had no attachments to this life, and he had snatched life from the jaws of defeat so many times before.

But still the anxiety came, along with a sense of shaken self: Megatron _had_ been defeated. He hadn't been the one to wrest control away from Unicron; that had been Optimus Prime, of all people. What had Megatron accomplished inside his own frame? Nothing. He had failed to get himself and Unicron killed at Predaking's claws. He had been trapped inside a vivid sense-memory of vorns of torture, completely subservient to Unicron's will.

Unicron had controlled him for such a short time, but Megatron felt vorns older.

Since the war's start, Megatron had fought and seized control with his own hands. The council had taken Orion Pax, with his painfully idealistic nonviolent ideology, as a palatable— and easily controlled— alternative to Megatron's less pacifistic methods. Then they had put the Matrix in his chest and drawn from that a warrior who spouted Orion's words from his vocalizer while crushing sparks in both hands. The Autobot cause had been founded on power-hungry cowards who spewed lies and built their world on the backs of stronger Cybertronians.

And, oh, yes, Megatron had hungered for power as well. But let the Autobots pretty their goals with words: Megatron deserved to rule because he was _strong_ , because he was willing to do whatever it took to seize that power for himself and give it to those who had suffered as laborers and cannon fodder for so long.

In the wake of his rescue, he should have felt contempt. He should have risen up above the experience and moved on to some glorious new goal. The Autobots should have regretted saving him. Certainly Starscream had expected it.

And yet, still, all he could feel was an emptiness, the pulse of a spark that called him a traitor and a hypocrite. In the worst moments, he found himself with his claws clenched at his sides, trying not to rip into the armor over his chest to tear out his own spark just so that it would cease its traitorous weakness. Megatron had no business being tired. Megatron had no business hurting. Megatron had no business feeling _empathy_ or _regret._

He certainly had no business lingering on memories of that long-ago age, long forgotten, before he had reached out and grabbed hold of what he wanted. When he had done what he hated because he knew nothing different. He could not feel this way because he could not fathom having the strength to reach for that sort of power again.

_Traitor, liar,_ his spark whispered. _You have betrayed the ideals you fought for and made everything you worked for meaningless. You cannot simply abandon them after all you have done to build them a home. You are no better than Optimus Prime._

These newsparks Megatron protected would come online into some Autobot society in which Decepticons would be crushed once more under the heel of society, all because Megatron had not fought hard enough. Because he had given up. Because every time he imagined crushing an Autobot spark, all he could remember was the agony and desperation that Unicron had planted directly into his processor where he could not purge it even now.

Soundwave's presence made it tolerable, somehow. He fought whenever Megatron felt restless enough to issue a challenge; neither of them fought to damage, not in this uncertain world, but though Megatron had not won all their battles, he had not lost all of them, either. Fighting with Soundwave made him feel strong again when nothing else did. It made him feel, however temporarily, that he belonged in this frame that had become alien to him.

How would that change when the Minicons' plating finished forming, when their processors woke from spark-memory reconstruction? Soundwave, the most loyal, who had stayed with him even when the cause was no more, who accepted Megatron for the broken scrap he was now. Soundwave, who had dared to show that he valued Megatron's _gentleness_. Nobody else would have done that. Nobody else would have survived the attempt.

"Megatron," said Soundwave from behind him. He had dropped the honorific a stellar cycle ago, at Megatron's request. "You have not refueled."

Megatron glanced over to where Blaster was quietly chatting away with the Autobots through his newly patched comm system. "Later, Soundwave. Rumble's plating is coming in."

Soundwave tilted his head and played back a voice clip. _"Rumble? That little piece of scrap?"_ Megatron's own voice grumbled. _"He's going to get himself killed and good riddance."_

Megatron did not flinch, but he could feel the flexible metal of his face freeze up as through all his motion paths had suddenly crashed. He stared at Soundwave, at a loss for words, and Soundwave reached out to touch his shoulder. Megatron very nearly _did_ flinch at that; Soundwave hadn't touched him since Blaster's arrival, and Megatron had assumed that there would be no physical contact in front of their tentative Autobot ally. The soft skating sensation of Soundwave's delicate fingers on the roughened, unwashed surface of his armor sent shivery little pings of awareness straight to Megatron's spark, straight to interface equipment he'd never trusted anyone enough to use, that Unicron had likely altered as well.

With a growl, he denied the pings, though he didn't shake off Soundwave's hand. Soundwave wasn't taking liberties, as another might have; his hands were rough sensor-dead tools compared to the feelers he kept packed tight in the special subspace compartment that had once housed his multitude of partners. Soundwave wasn't feeling Megatron; he was letting Megatron feel _him._

"What do you intend to do when your partners return?" he asked finally. He would ignore his own misstep, his own— hostility. Dodging the subject would never work with Soundwave, anyway. He didn't know why he'd tried, except that he desperately wanted to appear strong even when his spark felt like a seething mess of desperation and need that terrified him.

Terrified _him._

Soundwave stroked his armor again, carefully. "I have rebuilt your frame previously, Megatron," he said in his flat harmonics. "Cybertronian population is currently low. Chances of finding a functional yet abandoned laboratory suitable for the process are high." He accompanied this statement with a display of the locations of several nearby.

Megatron let out a low keen and immediately smashed his fist down against the ground at his side to cover the involuntary sound. Soundwave withdrew his hand but watched him. Not frightened. Megatron didn't look over to see if he'd drawn Blaster's attention; he didn't want to know. "Soundwave," he growled. "Another fight."

His ever-loyal, ever-obedient Soundwave simply nodded and moved off towards the space they had cleared a distance away from the hot spot. Megatron closed off input from his optics, vented overheated air from his tangled and overtaxed processor, and followed.


End file.
